


"That didn't stop you before."

by AuthorinExile



Series: Fictober 2020 [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Fenris (Dragon Age), Asexual Hawke (Dragon Age), Asexuality Spectrum, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fenris (Dragon Age) is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Graysexual Fenris (Dragon Age), Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke (Dragon Age) is Bad at Feelings, Implied Sexual Content, Isabela (Dragon Age) and Innuendo, Isabela (Dragon Age) is a Good Friend, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), It doesn't really affect this story but it's important to me that you know that they're ace here, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Kissing, Protective Varric Tethras, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Queerplatonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Varric/Hawke, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Wicked Grace (Dragon Age), platonic physical affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorinExile/pseuds/AuthorinExile
Summary: Hawke is hurting. Varric is, as always, by her side.
Relationships: Female Hawke & Varric Tethras, Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Hawke/Varric Tethras
Series: Fictober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147928
Kudos: 6





	"That didn't stop you before."

**Author's Note:**

> Context for how the asexuality works with this particular part of the Fenris romance:
> 
> Hawke is asexual and sex-indifferent, but she's totally in love with Fenris and wants to be close to and intimate with him in ways they both enjoy. Fenris is graysexual, experiences sexual attraction spontaneously and sexual desire rarely, but he's totally in love with Hawke and wants to be close to and intimate with her in ways they both enjoy.
> 
> Their spontaneous hook-up happened at a time when their emotions were running high, and both of them happened to be in the mood while also both wanting to be close to the other. It was a bad, rushed decision with very little thought behind it, and this is the aftermath.

Varric isn’t really surprised to find Hawke getting drunk on his tab at one in the afternoon, but he realizes he probably should be. Maybe not a good sign to see your best friend getting wasted on your dime and think, with no small measure of relief,  _ Oh, good, there she is _ , as if she might've been somewhere else getting drunk on someone else’s tab. As if this is the ideal outcome.

But then, for Hawke, this really isn’t the worst place she could be.

Varric swaggers up with a smirk to tease Hawke about being a day-drunk now instead of a regular, acceptable night-drunk, but his words die when she turns to see who’s approaching. Her face is tear-stained, though she isn’t actively crying, and her eyes are red. He takes stock of the rest of her appearance automatically, noting the light bruises on her neck and how hastily she appears to have dressed mechanically, as he stops in front of her and drops his smirk for genuine concern.

“Maker, Hawke, what happened?”

Fresh tears well up in her eyes. She doesn’t throw herself into his arms as much as she falls off the barstool and he catches her.

“Varric,” she whines into his quickly dampening shirt. The rest of her words are swallowed by her sobs.

Varric, arms entirely too full of sad human, looks up to Corff for an explanation. Corff, ever a softie, shrugs and turns away to deal with his customers. Norah is the one who says with a frown, “Poor thing came in here all upset about something. Won’t tell us what it is, but she’s been alternating between silent crying and silent glaring for the past few hours.”

“Hours?” Hawke’s been down here crying alone for hours and no one fucking told him?

Norah nods, apparently understanding his inner turmoil, and whispers, “I offered. She didn’t want anybody to bother you.”

“Well, where’s--”

Hawke interrupts with, “Isabela went out before I even got here. She’s off… She’s off doing pirate things, I guess.”

Varric smiles softly, It’s not funny, of course, but there’s something about the watery voice saying “pirate things” so seriously that just twists his heart.

When the Void did he become such a softie? This human is ruining him.

“Alright then,” Varric says, pushing at Hawke’s shoulders. “We can go to my room and get properly drunk with company that’s actually decent, and you can tell me all about it. But you’ve gotta stand up first. You’re too tall for me to carry. Too leggy.”

Hawke gives a shaky laugh, but she does stand. She also grabs her drink and starts unsteadily up the stairs.

Varric gives Norah a look that she’s had lots of practice learning. She nods and says, “I’ll bring it all up in a moment.”

Varric presses his hands together as though praying and mouths “Thank you” to Norah. Then he turns and jogs up to Hawke’s side, pressing his shoulder under her arm to steady her just as she stumbles.

As soon as he gets her settled in a cozy chair, Varric says, “So. Wanna tell me why you’re getting weepy drunk? You usually get dance-on-the-tables drunk.”

He expects a laugh or at least a smile. Instead, Hawke sniffles and focuses all her attention on running her finger around and around the rim of her mug.

They’re silent for long enough that Norah brings up their tray, loaded with as much water and food as alcohol. She gives Varric a curious look, but he only has eyes for Hawke, so Norah retreats and hopes he can fix this...whatever it is. Varric and Hawke are the closest people she’s ever known who aren’t fucking. If anyone can help Hawke, it’s him.

“It’s Fenris,” Hawke finally whispers, downing the contents of her mug and reaching for one of the new bottles.

Varric straightens up in alarm and concern. It didn’t even occur to him that one of their friends might be hurt or--or worse. Fuck, and Hawke had even told him that she and Fenris were planning on going out to the Wounded Coast this morning. Did that even happen? Did...whatever happened to make Hawke cry happen there or before they could even go?

“Fenris? Is he...alright?”

Hawke chokes on a sob and says, “I don’t know. I think… I think I pushed him too far, too fast. I’ve ruined it, Varric.”

Relief floods Varric right before a fresh wave of concern.

“Oh, Chuckles,” he breathes. “What happened?”

Hawke gives a weak chuckle and fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hawke takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then she tells him.

“We, uh… H-He came to talk last night, about everything that’s been going on, and-- It wasn’t on purpose. It just sorta happened. He… I kissed him, and then we… He…”

Varric’s stomach sinks as Hawke chokes on her words, unsure of what he’s dealing with and very worried to find out. He doesn’t  _ really  _ think it’s the case, but he has to make sure. He needs to know if this is the kind of hurt he can fix with sweets and snuggles or if he needs to take Bianca out for a visit.

“Hawke, did he...hurt you?”

And Hawke, because she’s  _ her _ , snorts and says loftily, “Not any more than I asked him to.”

_ Oh _ .

Before Varric can think of a way to respond, Hawke sniffles and says, “I woke up, and he was already dressed. Standing in front of my fireplace and ready to go and… He said he couldn’t be with me, Varric. He said he’d just wanted to be happy for a little while, but--”

Hawke cuts herself off, furrowing her brows and working her jaw, and Varric assumes the rest of the conversation is too private to share. That’s fine. He’s suddenly stopped caring for Fenris’ problems, which is surprising since he usually cares about his friends even at their worst.

Varric watches Hawke take a long drink and wipe the tears off her cheeks, and he realizes that it’s really not  _ that _ surprising, actually. Fenris hurt Hawke. Of course he doesn’t give a shit about the elf right now.

“He used you,” Varric surprises himself by whispering. 

The anger in the words is equally surprising.

Hawke freezes before quietly laughing.

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, as though she couldn’t possibly care.

After a moment, Hawke quietly adds, “I think I used him, too.”

Varric’s anger is washed away with sympathy. He reaches out and sets his hand on her forearm, squeezing slightly. 

“I’m so sorry, Marian.”

The sound of her first name pulls a small sob from Hawke, but she says nothing. She just turns her arm and slides her hand into his.

Varric doesn’t press her for any more information. He’s heard enough, and if they keep talking about it, he’s worried his anger on her behalf will look like anger _at_ her, and that’s the last thing he wants.

Instead, Varric sends for more alcohol and more food, and they spend the next few hours getting fun-drunk instead of sad-drunk. Isabela returns to the tavern just after nightfall and joins them in Varric’s room. If she heard anything of Hawke’s former mood, she keeps it to herself. She does bring a bag full of sweets, though, which she doles out to an appreciative Hawke with a knowing glance to Varric. Isabela catches up to them in drunkenness fairly quickly, considering they had the head-start of a few hours. Then it’s Varric’s self-imposed job to wrangle the two women into a game of Wicked Grace, but since Rivaini just lounges in her seat with Chuckles curled up in her lap the whole time, the game doesn’t exactly get competitive, and they give up a few rounds into it before anyone can even win.

“But you never give up,” Hawke pouts up at the other woman, alcohol turning this one change into devastation.

“Not usually, no,” Isabela concedes, “but having you in my lap makes reaching the cards in my boot very difficult  _ and _ is more interesting besides.”

She punctuates the sentence with a flirtatious wink and covers Hawke’s face in kisses as Hawke laughs cheerfully.

Eventually, even they have to give up on partying, though. Strangely, Isabela is the first to cave, throwing herself face-first onto Varric’s table and beginning to snore loudly soon after. Hawke, ever doting, reaches over and gently turns her head so that her cheek rests on the table instead of her nose. Varric grabs Hawke’s arm and falls backwards into his bed. Hawke laughs at him and pulls away just enough to remove her boots and outer layer of clothing.

“You’re going to regret falling asleep like that,” she warns, glancing meaningfully at the ostentatious chain he wears around his neck.

“Nah,” Varric lies, though he does kick off his boots as he turns to wrap an arm around Hawke, who settles into his embrace with a small smile and a contented sigh.

For a moment, Varric thinks she’s beaten him to sleep. Then she says, “Thank you.”

Varric reopens his eyes to see Hawke’s smile take on a sad tint.

“Any time,” he says honestly. “Anytime you need me, Chuckles.”

He closes his eyes again and pulls Hawke closer to him, resting his forehead against hers gently.

“Do you think,” she starts shakily, pausing before continuing in a whisper, “do you think we can work it out?”

Varric considers the question for a long time. He wants to give Hawke an honest answer, but her relationship with Broody has always been complicated at the best of times, and this recent development will certainly not improve anything.

“Maybe,” he settles on. “If both of you are willing to try, then maybe.”

When Hawke doesn’t reply beyond a quiet hum, he adds, “And if not, well, there’s always Blondie. You should see the way he stares at your ass when you swing that staff around. There’s a man who’s in love, let me tell you.”

Hawke responds with muffled giggles and a very quiet, “Shut up, you’re terrible.”

Varric grins while Hawke laughs herself out. He waits until she’s quieted down again to say, as honestly as he can, “It’s okay, Hawke. Even if things don’t work out, you’ve got people who care about you. You’ll be happy again sometime, I’m sure.”

Hawke sighs. “Right now, that seems impossible.”

“Well, that didn’t ever stop you before.”

Hawke hums quietly and goes silent. Varric follows her lead and slips into unconsciousness easily. He doesn’t dream, naturally, but just as he drops into sleep, he could swear he feels the gentlest brush of lips against his cheek.

In the morning, Varric wakes up to a raging hangover and a smiling Hawke. She hasn’t moved at all, which is confusing until he realizes he’s wrapped around her like a vice, arms and legs doing their best to fuse them into one person. He apologizes and pulls away just enough that Hawke could leave his embrace if she wanted. 

She doesn’t.

Instead, she beams wider, kisses his forehead lightly, and says, “You should get up. You smell like alcohol and death.”

Ever the charmer, that one.


End file.
